


Lonely Hearts

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Padmé centric, Takes place during AOTC, also known as: the mortifying (or not?) ordeal of being known, yes my unpopular headcanon is that Padmé was bad at making friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Padmé Naberrie had never thought of herself as lonely. It didn’t make sense. It didn’t. "From Queen Amidala to Senator Amidala, Padmé is surrounded by people. Yet an uneasy feeling grows, until Anakin Skywalker puts a name on it.
Relationships: Padmé Amidala & Naboo Royal Handmaiden(s), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 69





	Lonely Hearts

Queen Amidala was never alone. From the million pairs of eyes following her every movement, in the flesh or through a transmission, to the handmaidens who had become her shadow. It was perhaps the best kept secret in court: Queen Amidala was not truly a human being, but a mask that a handmaiden could carry when the one who had been elected queen was in danger or needed to escape from the attention that never left her. 

The Queen of Naboo was a patchwork of mannerisms and thoughts. While Padmé Naberrie had originally created this persona, the Queen had been molded with the help of her handmaidens, resulting in the perfect vessel that any of these girls could fit in if necessary. 

Everyone on the planet could recognize their monarch, with her white face, serious look and heavy headdresses. Few of them would have thought twice about her if they had crossed paths with Padmé Naberrie.

When finally Queen Amidala had to retire, Senator Amidala rose from her ashes. This time, no painting concealed her young face, though her gowns remained imposing, to shield both weapons and the petite stature of the woman who wouldn't let her youth and gender distract her interlocutors from her words.

The number of handmaidens shrunk around the Senator. Some of the old ones had stayed with the new Queen or had simply moved on. Serving the Queen of their planet had been their purpose well fulfilled, a great honor: it didn’t extend to serving a Senator in a foreign territory. They had bonded with her during her rule, obviously. How could they not, when they had to spend their every moment with her? During all those years, these girls who had barely reached womanhood had breathed and fought for someone else. They had watched her, _become_ her. They would have happily died for Queen Amidala. 

Not all of them could say the same about Senator Amidala. 

Now the galaxy knew the face of the Senator. Decoys were harder to use, and only the ones who looked the most like Padmé could sometimes assume her identity to protect her. 

Seeing herself without ceremonial paint on a screen for the first time had made Padmé feel dizzy. That moment, a realization hit her: she couldn’t escape now, people across the galaxy were able to recognize her. Sitting among many Senators, she was somehow more exposed than when she ruled a planet in the Mid Rim. Amidala was less an hybrid now, but still an entity that only possessed the traits of one woman. 

Senator Amidala was never alone either. A few remaining handmaidens, a security team, coworkers, allies, bootlickers and the media. They gravitated towards Padmé Amidala, always there but never crossing her trajectory. She was used to being surrounded and, if someone had asked how she felt about it, she wouldn’t have known how to answer. It was just as things were.

Senator Amidala was a public figure, a staunch defender of democracy and the common people. Her voice was heard by millions and carried the will of billions. Though she missed the green hills of her planet, she didn’t regret serving the galaxy in an endless, sterile city. 

Her soul would always belong to Naboo, but there was nothing there for her. As much as she loved her family, her early political career had accustomed her to do it from afar. It wasn’t in their culture to depend on their parents for too long; sometimes, Padmé felt she hadn’t done it at all. 

She could see the galaxy change around her, uneasiness and dissatisfaction rising through the cracks in the system. She worked harder. She put everything she possessed in her work: at eight years old, the decision to dedicate herself to others had only felt natural. It still did now. 

Images of settling down and starting her own family had danced behind her closed eyes the nights preceding the ending of her term. Sweet paintings, lovely fantasies. How beautiful they had been, how incongruous. They hadn’t belonged to Queen Amidala, but to a young woman whose heart ached despite a fulfilling vocation. They had vanished in an hidden part of her mind when the new Queen had asked her to represent the planet on Coruscant. 

She didn’t regret becoming Senator.

She didn’t regret it, even when her life was targeted again. Her voice wouldn’t be silenced. Even if she were to die in unfortunate circumstances, the certitude that her life-work would survive her was enough to shelter her from fear. The loss of her decoy in the attack only reminded her of the gap between her and these women: they would lay down their life for her, but she couldn't be allowed to do the same, as if her life had more value. It was this invisible wall that both parties were aware of that had prevented any real friendship between them, even as young girls trying to survive court together.

When she was forced to go back to Naboo, she had protested, not wanting to cower. She ended up complying, because apparently Senator Amidala couldn’t die _just yet_. Ideas were great, but she still needed to work a bit more for them to leave an impact. 

That was how she found herself in the presence of the brightest star that ever crossed her sky. 

The memories of a boy-slave faded a bit more each time Anakin’s gaze met hers. Now towering over her, he had also become a great fighter, though not quite an accomplished Jedi. All thoughts about the _man_ he had also grown into were quickly banished from her mind.

She wasn’t an idiot. Having always lived in the spotlight, she was no stranger to other people’s affection. Queen Amidala had been admired and worshiped. Senator Amidala had been respected and desired. If it were only that, she could have endured his feelings. But who had ever looked at _Padmé Naberrie_ with such an ardent longing?

It was just a crush, she told herself whenever Anakin stumbled over his words around her. She had been kind to him when he was a slave and now she was a walking memento of his well deserved freedom. She had introduced herself as an handmaiden and he clung to that image. It wouldn’t last. 

And yet...

He made her laugh in a way she hadn’t laughed since her early childhood, before all her responsibilities. The warmth of his smile erased any doubt of insincerity. Under his blue eyes, she blossomed into something that she couldn’t recognize but made her insides tense, and yet she was never more light-heared than around him . 

Anakin was the tornado coming to uproot her. It only became clear when he told her what she had never expected to hear. 

“You know”, Anakin said one day, while they where sitting on the grass in the fields at Varykino. “I was surprised when we met again. I didn’t think you would be so lonely.”

Padmé snapped her head back to him. He was twirling a flower between his long fingers, his attention seemingly fixated on it. His tone had been soft, but it stirred up something in her.

“What do you mean?” She hadn’t meant to sound so curt. Anakin made a face. “What makes you think that?”

The flower suddenly forgotten on the ground, Anakin folded his hands on his lap. Sheepish but not penitent, he took a few seconds seconds before raising his gaze and answering. “It’s just... You always have people around you, even in your appartement, but you have this _look_... And, uh, I’m not criticizing you! I feel pretty alone, too, in the Temple. And it’s always full, trust me! But the Jedi, they never truly felt like a _family_. A lot of them don’t actually like me, so I guess it’s normal I don’t feel... well, you know. It _seemed_ at first that your entourage and you were close, but it’s not what I _see_ when I look at you.”

Anakin seemed to realize that he was rambling now and promptly shut up, lowering his head. Silence stretched between them. They were only a few meters apart but it seemed to Padmé as if he had suddenly entered her vital space. 

“And what do you see when you look at me, exactly?” She finally found enough composure to ask. Her face looked blank, yet her sweaty hands were clutching her dress and her heart was trying to escape from her ribcage. 

Somehow, all embarrassment seemed to leave Anakin, though a faint redness had found its way onto his cheeks. “I see a lot of things. Mostly, I see someone who takes care of everyone around her and forgets to look after herself. You have been working since you were a child, by choice. On the Holos I've seen, you always look determinated and passionate about what you talk about, but it's as if you were only living for others. You said you wanted a family, but you're _always_ working. Naboo was lucky to have you as a Queen and the galaxy is lucky to have you as a Senator. But you should think more about who _you_ have.”

Padmé Naberrie had never thought of herself as lonely. It didn’t make sense. It _didn’t_. 

And there was Anakin, with his honesty, his face as open as his heart. With his penetrating gaze that had passed by Queen Amidala and Senator Amidala to reach Padmé Naberrie. 

Padmé’s lips quivered. Noticing her distress, Anakin tried to get closer to press a hand against her cheek, but she turned slightly and he let his arm fall back into his lap. 

Padmé didn’t cry. Her world was collapsing under her feet. Not only had Anakin awaken a thousand of new feelings in her, he had to voice the hollowness that she had carried, even nurtured, her whole life. 

He apologized, not for telling the truth but for upsetting her. 

Anakin saw _her_ , Padmé Naberrie.

That was why Senator Amidala, the no-nonsense twenty-four years old politician, had to put an end to Anakin’s silly yet endearing and honest attempts at courting her. Despite the lingering memory of his lips on hers in a moment of weakness, she couldn’t entertain the idea of something more. She couldn’t allow herself to get distracted. She had to be the mature one, even though she saw _him_ too: a young man with so much potential yet so many obstacles to overcome, walking with the wounds of his past still bleeding, feeling too much in a world that wanted to restrain his heart.

She was protecting herself, despite her heart shattering at the very thought of hurting him and losing him.

That was why Padmé Naberrie, the passionate young woman who believed in goodness and love, asked Anakin Skywalker to marry her after they had survived the battle of Geonosis. Padmé had watched over him while he recovered from his amputation, the same fire that had given birth to Queen Amidala growing in her chest. Death could have separated them, but the Gods had given them another chance that Padmé wasn’t foolish enough to waste. 

She could do it. She could be a wife and a senator. She could be his and fight for a better galaxy. He could be hers and save people. They could make this work. 

Padmé had to believe that, because she wasn’t ready to give Anakin up. When they were together, she could be her truest self, without any pressure. Padmé could actually act her age, could let her heart guide her, without feeling guilty. Anakin had looked at the woman behind the image and had loved her more. The rush of feelings it brought to her were the most delicious things she had ever felt. Even if the time they spent apart during the war was crushing them, it was worth it. Each reunion was sweeter than the last one. 

When Padmé and Anakin were together, the loneliness that had followed them for so long finally lifted, letting space for their love to grow. Apart, they knew that the other part of their soul was waiting for them to come home. 

As Padmé Naberrie slowly rubbed her swelling belly while Anakin’s head rested on her shoulder and his arms were around her waist, she silently promised to her child that they would never feel alone. 


End file.
